


No Bond But This

by ScarlettFAngell



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dark Magic, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Fantasy, Internal Conflict, M/M, Magic, Magical Bond, Military Background, Military Training, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Porn With Plot, Post-Betrayal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Power Dynamics, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Survivor Guilt, Touch-Starved, implied/referenced past forced cannibalism, past sexual slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-08-23 14:11:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16620530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettFAngell/pseuds/ScarlettFAngell
Summary: Ten years ago, the Atrosian Empire suffered the ultimate betrayal; the murder of their Emperor. Siavash, a prince from a neighbouring kingdom,--and someone Ardys thought was an ally--was the culprit, selling secrets to the enemy in the process; a powerful mage who called himself the Witch-King.Now, years later, Siavash returns to him, wounded and damaged in mind, body and soul. Siavash begs Ardys to kill him, but the request is refused. Instead, Ardys learns a horrifying truth; Siavash is Oathbound to the Witch-King, and not entirely in control of himself.Ardys has Siavash restrained with anti-mage bracelets--a product of a bygone era--and tends to his wounds, but not all those wounds are visible. Some are within the mind. What is one to do with a traumatised man who has spent nearly a decade in twisted, mind-controlled slavery? Ardys isn't sure, but he's sure as hell not going to let the Witch-King retain his control over Siavash.





	1. One

**Chapter One**

**_The cliff was a good vantage_  ** point; high enough to be out of the way but low enough to give Ardys a good view of the battlefield. He sighed, watching the army as it washed over the town. His army. The enemy's town. Beside him, his advisors and the War General shifted uneasily. He knew that General Nurval wanted to be down there with the Brigade Commander and the War Marshal. Why Nuri chose to be on the frontlines was beyond him, but he wasn't going to make her stand back and watch when there was blood to be shed, as much as he abhorred the idea. So he'd let the others do the fighting and he'd stand back and watch. Which left him with Nurval, who also wasn't too keen on bloodshed for all his experience on the battlefield, but still wanted to be down there, helping.

"This is a slaughter," Nurval muttered, making Ardys wince. "Remind me why we're doing this again?"

"Because the Witch-King was last seen here--"

"That's no excuse to slaughter innocents, Advisor Izar," the General snapped, and Ardys turned to look at them. "I like this no more than you do."

“Enough,” Ardys snapped, fixing each man with a narrow-eyed glare. “The both of you.” He waited until they had fallen silent before continuing in a lower tone. “You think I like this anymore than either of you? I do not.” Ardys turned back to the battlefield, a sour taste in his mouth. “The Witch-King has Seruya’s brother, and—” He cut himself off abruptly, slashing a hand through the air. “It doesn’t matter. We must stop this madman.”

Silence reigned for several minutes as they watched the slaughter unfold. Somehow, the village was pushing back against the Atrosian Imperial Army. Ardys narrowed his gaze, trying to pinpoint what was happening, even as he had a feeling he knew already. He was proven correct when the luminous form of a giant white-silver falcon surged up into the sky and then swooped down on the village. It swept through his army like a wave of death, and Ardys cringed. Even from his vantage point on top of the cliff, he could see the blue-black of tainted magic crawling all over the giant bird.

“Is that—?”

“Yes,” he said, grinding his teeth together. Of course Siavash would be there. Ardys closed his eyes, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Yes, it is.”

“Perhaps now would be a good time to release your dragon, your majesty?”

Ardys exhaled heavily, slitting his eyes. The tainted magic that intermingled with Siavash’s was a mockery of everything that they’d been through before. He had to wonder just how far gone his ex-lover was... Ardys shook his head sharply, ran a hand over his face before firming his stance and facing his enemy. For that was what Siavash was now, wasn’t it? An enemy.

“Your majesty...?”

“Let me concentrate, Izar,” he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Ardys ignored the man’s muttering and focused inwards, reaching into the very centre of himself for his magic. And his dragon. It surged up towards the surface of his psyche in a blur of deep purple scales and luminous golden eyes. 

He knew the moment it burst into the air, could feel the crackle of magic all around him and, through the dragon’s eyes, saw the brief hesitation in the falcon’s movements. It was only for a moment, but he knew. Siavash knew he was there. Smiling grimly, Ardys let the dragon loose and stumbled backwards. The giant beast swooped down towards the village with a roar. The effort of keeping the manifestation of his magic in check was taking its toll on him, and Ardys’ vision went dark for a moment, but not the dragon sight. When he came back to himself, all he could see were smoldering ruins.

The battle had been won within moments, but not even the sick satisfaction of driving the enemy back could scour clean Ardys’ memories of the dragon’s battle. It truly was a slaughter, and he’d seen every single death through the dragon’s eyes, felt them like a blow to his chest. The memories would haunt him for months. There was a reason he tried not to use his magic. Especially the dragon. 

“Sir?” Nurval called, dragging his attention off the still smoldering village. The General was standing a few paces off, an edge to his expression. Ardys raised an eyebrow and waited. “We found an intruder. Thought this one might be of interest to you.” The older man shifted uncomfortably, glancing back over his shoulder before focusing on Ardys again. “He’s in bad shape, but he’s asking for you and refusing to speak to anyone else.”

Without a word, Ardys turned and strode past his War General, taking the well-worn path down to their camp in the slight dip before the cliff. The Atrosian Imperial banner fluttered in the wind above the highest point of the tent, and it was eerily quiet. Ardys frowned, following the path to the left that led further down the hill from the camp. 

As he rounded a small stand of trees, he caught sight of several soldiers and a brigade captain positioned in a semi-circle around a prone figure. It wasn’t until he got a little closer that he recognised the pale hair and paler skin. 

“Siavash?” He called tentatively, and watched as the figure flinched. Ardys moved closer, the soldiers parting to let him through. The former prince of Hevaria looked terrible. His clothes were little more than rags, barely covering his pale skin. Through the huge tears in Siavash’s shirt, Ardys could see whip marks, bruises, and various other scars. He pulled up short when a soldier got a little too close and Siavash cringed away from him. “Oh... Vash...”

“No one has called me that in nearly a decade,” Siavash muttered, not meeting his gaze. His voice was hoarse from disuse or screaming—or both. Ardys wasn’t sure, but he was concerned by what he saw. “Please... Ardys... please kill me.”

The request was a shattered plea, and Ardys crouched down to be on the former Prince’s level. “Why should I kill you, Vash?”

“Because... because...” Siavash cut himself off with a whimper and abruptly curled in on himself, sucking in sharp, shallow breaths. He seemed to be clutching his chest, over where the heart would be. Ardys frowned. “If you don’t kill me, I will kill you!”

The brigade captain drew his sword with a sharp twang and took a step towards Siavash. “You little—” He cut himself off when Siavash scrambled away from him, pleading not to be hurt anymore, that he’d be good and he wouldn’t fight him anymore. 

Ardys’ frown deepened. “Put your sword away, Captain,” he said, drawing his own weapons and tossing them aside. Vash watched his hands from behind a long strand of dirty, matted hair. “See? No weapons. Now why don’t you tell me why you’ll kill me if I don’t kill you first?”

Without warning, Siavash launched himself at Ardys, taking him down to the ground. The soldiers shifted, but none dared draw their weapons. Not when Ardys was right there. Vash didn’t try to hurt him; he just held onto him tightly, pressed up against him with his face hidden in Ardys’ shirt. The Atrosian Emperor hesitated only briefly before he sat up and pressed his face down into Vash’s matted hair. He took a moment to just hold him before raising his head and casting a glance towards the soldiers. Nurval was scowling at him, the expression just shy of disapproving. He’d let the man think what he wanted; Ardys was Emperor. His word was Law. Well, mostly...

“Captain, prepare a bath,” he said, ignoring the bewildered looks on their faces. Ardys slid a hand down Vash’s side and frowned when it slipped slightly. He pulled back a little more to peer down at the spot he’d touched and froze when he found the side of Vash’s tattered, once-white shirt stained a deep red. “And call for the Physician, will you?”

“Yes, your majesty,” the brigade captain muttered, turning on his heel. Ardys didn’t bother watching him leave and kept all his focus on Siavash as the man shuddered in his hold.

“Vash, what have they done to you?” he whispered, shifting to cup the younger man’s face. Amazingly, the former Hevarian prince didn’t flinch away from him, but his reaction was less than comforting. He went very still, eyes squeezed shut as Ardys raised his face. Even there, he could see scars and bruising. He was tempted to cuss out the bastards who’d harmed Siavash, but refrained for fear of scaring the poor man more. Where was the proud, noble man he’d met nearly ten years ago? “Vash.... Oh, Vash. You’ve been stabbed and who knows what else. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Not they,” Vash said after a long, tense moment. He relaxed once he realised that Ardys wasn’t going to hurt him. “Only  _him_ .”

Ardys froze.  _Him_ . That could only mean one thing. He slid his hands down to Vash’s shoulders, tugging him in close again and stroking a hand over his near-white, matted hair. “I see,” he murmured, not looking at the handful of tense soldiers or at General Nurval. Vash needed comforting, even if he did just try to take out most of Ardys’ army with his magical falcon. Ardys sighed, squeezing his eyes shut briefly. “It’s alright, Vash. I’m here now.”

Siavash’s shoulders began to shake with silent sobs, and when he spoke, he voice was wet and wavering. “But you’re not here,” he whispered, voice nearly inaudible. He sounded like he was still sobbing. “You’re not here, and he’ll make me kill you again...just to prove to him that I can---and I don’t want to, but he’ll make me and--”

“Siavash,” Ardys said, tone firm and Vash froze. “I promise you, I am here. I am not going to let him hurt you again...” He trailed off for a moment, trying to pick his next words carefully. “But I am going to have to ask you questions, Siavash... About him, about what he did, what he’s planning.... Can you try to answer them for me?”

“Yes, Sir,” Siavash breathed and let out a pitiful little whimper. “But he wants me to kill you and I don’t know if I can resist his commands for much longer.... Please, Ari.....please make sure I can’t hurt you...”

He sighed and pulled back. “I can do that, but you won’t like it--” He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head, then glanced towards his War General. “Bring them here.”

“Yes, your majesty.” With that, the General swept off towards their camp, his steps firm and unhurried. There were a dozen soldiers watching the Emperor’s back after all.

Ardys waited until Nurval was out of earshot before he cupped Siavash’s face again and raised his chin up. “Siavash,” he said and a shiver went down his now-prisoner's spine. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Siavash opened his eyes and met Ardys’s gaze. He looked haunted, like he’d been running for months and had been dragged back only to run all over again. Ardys brushed a thumb over his cheek, watching as Siavash’s eyelashes fluttered. He also looked exhausted, like he’d been pushing himself too hard and too far. And he probably had, both in body and in magic. Ardys let his gaze soften, saw the way Vash’s pale blue eyes unfocused and quickly pinned him to the ground, wrists held down on either side of his head. Siavash froze, a terrified whimper escaping him.  _Gods, he’s been tortured for years_ , Ardys thought, watching him carefully, but the younger man didn’t struggle. He laid there placidly even as Ardys dug a knee into his hip to keep him immobile.

“Seriously, your majesty? This couldn’t wait?”

Ardys froze at the disapproval in Nurval’s voice, turning towards him slowly. Nurval stood a few feet away, a length of delicate silver chain in one hand and three bracelets in the other. “It is not what you think, General,” he hissed, turning back to his ex-lover. “I believe there is something...wrong here. Siavash tells me that he’s not always in control, that someone--I think you know who--is relaying orders to him.” He took in Siavash’s face for a moment, taking in the vacant, glassy eyes, the way his muscles tensed and relaxed over and over again. “I believe he is not currently in full control of himself. Quickly now, put them on him.”

“He’s not fighting you?” Nurval asked, moving closer. He knelt beside them, moving slowly so as to not startle their prisoner. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he muttered, shifting slightly and easing up on his hold. When Siavash didn’t show any signs of moving, he nodded to the General. “Now, before he snaps out of the trance.”

Nurval handed him one bracelet then a second, attaching the chain to the one he still held. Ardys nodded his thanks and pocketed the bracelet without ornamentation before shifting to slip the other onto Siavash’s wrist quickly. Nurval slid the other onto their prisoner’s other wrist and handed Ardys the other end of the chain. With a sharp shake of his head, Ardys detached the chain and pocketed that as well.

“Siavash,” he called gently, withdrawing a few feet, and the younger man blinked. “Are you well now?”

“He wants me to kill you,” the former prince whispered, not moving an inch. “That’s all he says; kill him, kill him, killhimkillhimkillhim--” He cut off with a whimper, arching against the ground as the bracelets on his wrist sparked violently. “No, nonono, I can’t! What did you do?! Why can’t I access my magic? ARDYS!”

His name was a scream, and Ardus flinched, wincing at the sheer terror in Siavash’s voice. “I’m sorry, Vash. It was the only way I could be sure...”

“Sure?” That seemed to confuse Siavash for a moment. He slumped against the ground, breathing heavily, but still not making a move to sit up. “What?”

“Anti-mage bracelets,” Ardys said by way of explanation and stood up. He turned and took a couple of steps away. “Bring him to my tent, General.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

With that, he headed back up the hill to their tents, his mind spinning. The Witch-King clearly had some kind of hold over Siavash, and that explained quite a bit. From his behaviour leading up to his betrayal, to the behaviour since then and the long string of slaughters they’d witnessed, to the fear Ardys could see on his people's’ faces. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face quickly. Whatever hold the Witch-King had on Siavash, it must be something pretty damned important, something nasty. To bind him so deeply, and to torture him so thoroughly without retaliation... Ardys was furious, and he was going to break that hold by any means necessary. For now, though, the anti-mage bracelets should do a good job of restraining Vash. At least, magically speaking. Physically... Well, they’d have to work on that one.


	2. Two

**Chapter Two**

_** Siavash sat numbly by **_ _**the**_ bathtub as a young man filled it with lukewarm water. He appeared to be a kitchen hand of some sort. Siavash ignored him in favour of running the fingers of one hand over his left wrist. The metal was cool to the touch, but if he tried to reach for his magic, the metal grew warm and something clamped down on his ability to reach it. The first time it happened, back when Ardys had first put them on him, he’d panicked. How was he supposed to follow His orders when he couldn’t access his magic?

He flinched when the young man set down the heavy metal pot with a clatter. A moment later, there was a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to focus on his attendant. The young man looked concerned, frowning slightly at him. Siavash was tempted to shrug his hand off, but years of conditioning had him freezing up.

“The bath is ready, sir,” the young man--really not more than a boy--said, slowly withdrawing his hand. Siavash eyed him warily, keeping his expression carefully blank. That seemed to unnerve the boy more than his silence before. “When you’re ready for it, of course...”

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, dropping his gaze back to the bracelets on his wrists. A pang of bitter betrayal flared deep in his gut but he quickly pushed it away. Ardys would never betray him. In fact, it had been the other way around.

“Call you what?” the boy asked, confused. “Call you sir?”

“I’m...I’m not that anymore,” he hissed and pushed to his feet, taking a couple steps towards the bath before his body gave out and he crashed to his knees. His side throbbed where the Physician had stitched him up, but Siavash was determined to ignore it as he held onto the edge of the tub, gritting his teeth harshly. The boy was by his side in moments. 

“Sir?”

“Don’t call me that!” he yelled, making the boy flinch away from him. Siavash froze up even more for a second, expecting a blow for the outburst. When it didn’t happen, he glanced up to find the kitchen boy watching him even more warily than before. “I’m...sorry... Please, don’t call me that.”

“Then what should I call you?”

“Siavash,” he muttered and settled onto his knees with a wince. His head was clearer than it’d been in a while. He had to credit that to the anti-mage bracelets. They must be blocking His influence over Siavash. He exhaled carefully. “What should I call you?”

“Seanán,” the boy replied, exhaling loudly. “But most people just call me Sean.”

He hesitated before glancing towards him. “Why are you here, kitchen boy?”

“His Majesty requested it,” Sean said, glowering at him. “And I’m not a kitchen boy, I’m a sous chef.”

“A what?”

Sean exhaled heavily, sounding exasperated. “Basically, I’m the Head Chef’s apprentice. He’s teaching me how to run the camp kitchen.”

Siavash tilted his head, gaze narrowing as the boy turned towards the tub and trailed a hand through the water. Steam rose almost immediately, and Siavash blinked. “You’re a mage,” he muttered, grimacing as a sharp stab of pain twisted through him. He leaned more heavily on the tub, face twisting up in pain. It wasn’t just his wound, though. He could feel a faint echo of His tainted magic in the back of his mind. Siavash squeezed his eyes shut, lips pressed together to try and stop the whimper of fear that he wanted to voice from escaping. 

“Siavash?”

“I’m fine,” he hissed, curling in on himself a little. Absently, he pressed a hand against his chest, breathing heavily. “Just....give me a moment...”

Sean didn’t respond and Siavash didn’t need him to. He took his time to calm his breathing, opening his eyes and focusing on the slight shift of the water in the tub. He inhaled steam, and felt a sense of calm wash over him. Had the boy put some sort of oil or something in the bath? It didn’t matter; he’d still take what was offered.

“Feel better now?” Sean asked and Siavash blinked sleepily, turning towards him. He nodded and the boy seemed to relax. “Good. Now, in you go.” When he didn’t move, Sean frowned. “Do....do you need help...or?”

Siavash hesitated, knuckles white from gripping the edge of the tub so hard. What was the boy implying? Was he...asking if Siavash was available or something? He frowned, turning his face away as he tried to sluggishly puzzle it through. Could he request to be alone without repercussions here? To not be touched? Is that why the young chef was keeping his distance?

“I...” The former prince shook his head, shifting one hand to finger his tattered shirt.  “I don’t... understand,” he admitted, not looking away from the tub full of steaming water. 

“Oh,” the young man said, sounding surprised. “Help with getting into the tub, Siavash. I’m...” he trailed off, seemingly uncertain. “I’m not gonna do anything else and you can always tell me no.”

“I can say no?” he breathed, more confused than ever. He gripped his shirt tightly, not caring that it tore more with the force. “I can say no...here?”

He turned to find Sean staring at him, head tilted to one side and frowning deeply at him. “Of course you can, Siavash.” Sean shrugged, clasping his hands behind his back. “To me, at least. I don’t know about His Majesty, though. But you should probably answer his questions to the best of your ability.”

With that, Sean turned and left the tent. Siavash stared at the entrance, watching the flap of canvas swinging gently for a moment before it stilled. That hadn’t exactly been...reassuring, but at least he knew he had the option, the ability, to say no. To Sean, in the least. To the others? To Ardys? He wasn’t so sure. His  _Master_ hadn’t let anyone else hurt him like He did, not in the same way, but still... 

Siavash shuddered, turning away from the tent’s entrance. That he’d been left alone to bathe spoke volumes. Either Ardys expected him to try and run, and knew he wouldn’t get far.... Or Ardys had his suspicions about Siavash’s treatment at His hands and was giving him a chance to settle his mind, to calm himself. Either way, Siavash wasn’t sure what he wanted. But he did know he wanted that bath. It had been months since he’d been given the privilege of one, and whatever he had to do for it afterwards, he’d do it and be grateful. Because then, at least, he would be clean.

He shed clothing slowly, wincing with each movement and discarded them in a neatly folded pile on the floor. When he caught himself adjusting it, he breathed out a curse and jerked his hands back. Some conditioning was very hard to break. He knew that. He’d helped former slaves to readjust before he’d become one himself. 

Siavash tugged at his hair in frustration before slowly climbing to his feet and then into the tub. The water turned dark and muddy almost immediately as he settled. He’d just gotten comfortable when the tent flaps shifted and Ardys strode into the tent. He froze, barely breathing as the Atrosian Emperor stared at him for several long minutes and then continued on past him to a chest-turned-desk on the far side of the tent. Siavash exhaled carefully as he listened to Ardys rummage around for a few minutes. When it was clear that the older man wasn’t going to touch him or even look at him, Siavash turned slightly to put his ex-lover in his peripheral vision.

“What, exactly, do you want from me?” he asked and Ardys paused in his rummaging. But he didn’t look at him. “For the bath, Sir? I will... I will do whatever you require of me—”

Oh, gods, what was he even saying? He clamped his mouth shut and cursed his master’s conditioning. He needed to get the foul taste of tainted magic and old blood out of his mouth. It was driving him mad even though he knew it wasn’t actually there. Well, the blood wasn’t. He wasn’t so sure about the tainted magic. 

“There is nothing I require, Siavash,” the Emperor said, tone gentle and soft. “At least, not... Not like that.” He took a deep breath and turned to face Siavash, expression shuttered. “I just ask for your cooperation, if you are able.”

_Kill him, my pet. Kill him now while his guard is down—_  

“Shut up,” Siavash hissed lowly, turning away and gripping his matted hair hard. He tugged harshly, relishing in the sting it caused. The voice retreated slightly, but he could still tell that his master was there, lurking in the depths of his mind, in his very soul. “Stop it! I don’t want to!”

“Siavash?”

_So much for being clear headed,_ he thought sourly and dropped down into the tub. Water surged in over him, but he held his breath and waited, eyes squeezed shut. A few moments later, the presence lingering within him retreated and he was able to think past his master’s desire for Ardys’ death. He sat up slowly, exhaling heavily and flinched when a hand slid onto his shoulder. 

“Siavash?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered but didn’t try to shrug off the hand. He probably could, but again. Conditioning. Oh, how he hated it. “I will be fine, I think...”

“Alright,” Ardys said, and the hand retreated. Siavash relaxed slightly, still on edge but no longer near frozen now that he wasn’t being touched. “Would you like help? With your hair?”

He made a small noise, somewhere between pleasure at the thought and horror, and went still. “Yes, please,” he whispered, and then added for good measure; “Sir.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“I’m sorry,” Siavash said, wincing at the Emperor’s harsh tone. But no reprimand seemed to be forthcoming, so he relaxed the slightest bit. “I can’t help it... Habit...”

“You mean conditioning,” Ardys corrected gently, and Siavash couldn’t find it in him to argue the point. Ardys sighed. “I see... I had my suspicions, but this? This confirms it.”

Fingers settled on his temples, gentle and light. Siavash tilted his head back, reminded vaguely of a time several years ago when they’d been in a similar position, but discussing something far different. “If that’s what you want to call it, Sir.”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that?”

“My apologies...”

Ardys sighed again, deeply, and the fingers on his temples slid back into his hair, teasing the tangled mess gently. “I can already see that that will be a hard habit for you to break,” he said, tone soothing. “Let’s see what you’ve done to you hair, shall we?”

_There is a dagger on his belt, pet,_ his master’s voice whispered, and Siavash went still, struggling with the urge to listen to Him.  _Take it. Slice his throat. Then you may come home and I shall shower you with praise—_

Siavash struggled against the order, biting his lips until they were swollen and bleeding as he fought his master’s whispered commands. He stared up at the roof of the tent, past Ardys’ worried gaze, as he gripped the edges of the tub tightly enough to cut his hands. He could do this. Just this once, even if the promise of praise was a tempting offer. 

_No,_ he thought, and blinked quickly, feeling tears welling up. A surge of white-hot heat swept through him, and on the tail of it came the pain. He couldn’t fight that, no matter how hard he tried. His master had made sure he was especially sensitive to pain, as much as he was to the sick pleasure his master gave him. He cried out, hoarse and barely breathing. Ardys jerked back from him like he’d been stung. In the corners of his eyes, he saw the bracelets sparking and arched upwards in the tub, screaming now as another surge of heat-pain washed through him. 

“He knows,” he whimpered when it finally eased and he collapsed back into the bath water. “He knows you have me and that I defy Him...” He broke off for a moment, panting to catch his breath. Ardys’ fingers returned to his hair, stroking gently without trying to fix it. “He knows—”

“Hush,” Ardys murmured, stroking his hair again. “Hush.” After a long pause, he began to untangle his hair again. “Does that happen often?”

“....often enough,” he admitted, ashamed, and tried to turn his head away. Ardys guided it back, something dark and angry flickering across his face. Siavash felt his eyes widening and hurried to add; “It’s... worse... when he’s right there... watching...”

“Watching.” It wasn’t a question, but a flat, dead statement. He flinched. 

“Yes.”

“Watching what, exactly, Siavash?” Ardys pressed, his expression suddenly blank. Somehow, that scared Siavash more than he was willing to admit. When he took too long, Ardys pressed the issue, but gently and firmly. “Watching what?”

Siavash tried to turn his face away but Ardys’s fingers tightened in his hair. It wasn’t painful, just a pressure that warned him not to move. He closed his eyes to avoid meeting his ex-lover’s piercing gaze. “I... I don’t think I can put it into words, Sir,” he whispered, fighting the sick feeling bubbling up in his gut at defying an order. Apparently it didn’t matter whose order he was ignoring or refusing; his twisted mind still considered it wrong to disobey. “At least, at least...not right now.”

Ardys sighed. “I think I have an idea,” he said softly and one hand left his head to trail down his chest in a slow glide that was probably meant to be sensual. All it did was set his teeth on edge and his skin to crawling. The hand stopped when it hit the surface of the water, fingers splayed over Siavash’s fluttering stomach. “This terrifies you, doesn’t it? It scares you so badly that you freeze up and shiver uncontrollably...” He trailed off and withdrew the hand. “I’m not going to touch you like that, Siavash. I’m not a monster.”

“Th-then why..?”

“To make sure I was correct,” was the soft, almost inaudible reply. “It wasn’t all just pain and torture, was it? He did something far more damaging... can you tell me what it is, Siavash? Please?”

He shook head head, even though the words were on the tip of his tongue— _he bound my soul to his, my magic to his, and with it, he controls me_ —but no matter how much he wanted to say the words, they refused to come. He was as trapped by the magic that bound them as he was by his master’s twisted conditioning.

“I can’t,” he finally forced past numb lips. “I... I...” he growled in frustration and spat out two words; “Oath. Bound.”

He gloated in his progress for a moment, but it was short lived. Another surge of pain swept over him and he curled up as much as possible with Ardys’ fingers still buried in his hair. Siavash felt his breathing pick up in pace and then dropped into a slump as the pain faded. Merely a warning, then. He exhaled through his nose. 

“Oathbound, hmm?” Ardys mused, his tone thoughtful. Siavash took the chance to peek up at him, curious now. “I see... Is that all?”

Siavash shook his head, but found himself unable to speak. Ardys didn’t seem to be upset by that. As a mage, he would know very well that it was very, very difficult to fight an oath-bond, and that Siavash probably wouldn’t be able to speak of it for several days. Oh, how he wished he could tell Ardys everything. But the Atrosian Emperor would soon find out that there was very little that Siavash could actually speak of. He would have to find some more creative ways to get the information across. 

“Why did you come back to me?” the Emperor murmured, distracting Siavash from his planning. He blinked up at Ardys, eyes now wide. “Why now?”

Siavash shifted slightly, then lifted one now-mangled hand off the edge of the tub and into the water. He peered up at Ardys for a moment, seeking permission. With a nod from the Emperor, and the faint tingle of reconnecting with his magic, Siavash pushed his magic into the water, dropping the temperature rapidly until ice began to form. He spelled out a single sentence, feeling his remaining strength draining with the use of magic and all the stress he’d been under in the last few weeks. 

_His control slipped for a second so I ran._

With that last effort, Siavash felt all his strength snuff out and sagged in Ardys’ hold. His vision swam for a moment and then flickered out. Blissful peace followed him down into the darkness. 


	3. Three

**Chapter Three**

**_Ardys swore violently_ ** as Siavash went limp in his arms. He steadied himself and hauled Vash upright a little more, tipping the other man’s head back slightly. He was still breathing, but clearly unconscious. Ardys breathed a sigh of relief and settled Siavash against the edge of the tub. He ran a hand over Siavash’s forehead before he stood and crossed to the tent entrance. 

“Bring me the Physician,” he told the guard stationed outside. The man nodded and headed off. Ardys withdrew into the tent and returned to Siavash’s side. 

He took a moment to just look at him before he sighed and knelt beside the tub. Ardys quickly gave him a once-over with the soap and then settled in to untangle Vash’s hair. It took a while, and he could have gotten someone else to do it, but he’d wanted to do it himself. Siavash’s usual multitude of braids was a mess. More than half had come undone and gotten all tangled up. He blew a sharp breath out his nose and glanced towards the entrance. Still nothing; no footsteps or voices. Ardys took the chance to press a chaste kiss against the other man’s temple. It was good that the younger man wasn’t aware of that...

“Your majesty?” a soft voice called from beyond the tent flaps. Ardys pulled back as one was lifted and an older man ducked into the tent. His gaze unerringly went straight to Ardys. “Oh dear. What did he do this time?”

Ardys shifted his hold on Siavash until he had a good grip beneath his knees and around his back. “He seems to have exhausted his magic,” Ardys muttered, lifting the former prince carefully out of the tub. He determinedly refused to let his gaze wander, but couldn’t help taking note of every single scar and fading bruise he found. And there were quite a few. “Apparently he’s been running for a while.”

“And pushing himself beyond his limits, by the looks of it,” the Physician said, joining him as Ardys moved towards his cot. “He’s been through quite some torture, hasn’t he? No wonder his magic is worn so thinly...”

“And there’s the Witch-King’s corruption to deal with,” Ardys growled, setting Siavash down on the bed gently. He drew the blanket up over his hips and shifted so that the Physician could take a proper look at the unconscious young man on his bed. “Gods...so many scars...”

“Yes,” agreed the Physician softly, settling on the edge of the bed as he examined Vash’s wound first before checking each and every single scar or bruise he could find without moving his patient or the blanket. “Definitely torture... Blade wounds, whip lashes, burns... if you can think of it, there’s probably a mark for it.”

Ardys ground his teeth together, eyes darting over the mottled bruising covering Siavash’s chest and sides, even his arms, and taking in the scattering of scars that accompanied them. He was definitely going to kill the Witch-King if he ever got the chance. There was a reason mages were put down at the slightest sign of insanity. Especially the type of mage the Witch-King was. Blood mages were the worst, and Ardys wasn’t going to stand by and let a madman conquer the realm. 

“Will he be alright?” he asked, shoving the anger down deep. It wouldn’t do to let it control him. It would be best if he held onto it, fed it and fostered it until he needed it. He had a feeling that when the time came, it would be a huge boost of power and energy for his dragon. 

“Physically,” the older man said, sitting back to study his patient. “He will heal with minor aches and pains. But I’m more concerned about his mind.” He turned to pin Ardys in place. “There are huge cracks in his psyche, my king. He can barely protect himself from a mental assault, let alone process all the trauma he’s been through...”

“You’re telling me that someone  _ intentionally _ broke him down and turned him into...into a slave?”

“Essentially? Yes.” The Physician did not look very happy about it. “But there’s something even worse, my lord, and you won’t like it.”

Ardys inclined his head, gaze fixed on the other man. “Go on.”

“His magic has been bound—”

“The bracelets, I know—”

“No,” the Physician corrected gently, shaking his head. “It’s not those. Let me finish. His magic—and his very essence—has been bound to another, enslaving him on a level beyond the physical.”

“Oathbound,” he muttered, gaze darting to Vash’s face as he remembered what the young man had fought tooth and nail to tell him earlier. He adjusted his stance and crossed his arms with an exaggerated sigh. “I take it he’s bound to the Witch-King himself?”

“Most likely.”

“Damnit,” he hissed, looking away. That was definitely not what he’d wanted to hear, despite all his suspicions and concerns. He heaved a deep breath and let all the tension drain out of him. “I will deal with whatever issues he has as they reveal themselves. For now, he could be a valuable source of information.”

“If that is what you wish, your majesty,” the older man said, ducking his head down to get a closer look at the stitches in his patient’s side. He hummed thoughtfully for a moment before tsking in disapproval. “If these fits of his continue, I’ll need to re-stitch this wound. Do try and keep him calm, will you?”

Ardys snorted. “I’ll do my best.”

“That may not be enough,” the Physician said, drawing Ardys’ gaze back to the bed. “See how he flinches away from me even in his sleep?” He twisted to look up at Ardys, fingers sliding over Vash’s stomach gently. Indeed, Siavash was cringing away from the touch, despite being deeply unconscious. “I don’t even need to hazard a guess at the abuse he’s endured. It’s written clearly across his skin.” The old man sighed. “You’ll probably find quite a few scars across his ass and thighs...if he ever lets you see him like that.”

The Emperor stiffened, gaze darting away from the knowing look the Physician sent him. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he stayed quiet, tension seizing him up more tightly than anything else he’d done since becoming Emperor. That had been Siavash’s doing, too. The ultimate betrayal. He’d killed Ardys’ father and then fled, but now that Ardys knew a portion of the truth, he could safely assume that it hadn’t been entirely of Siavash’s own will. He exhaled carefully, dragging his gaze back to the Physician’s.

“I’ve seen plenty of slaves, my lord, to know what to look for.” The older man turned back to Siavash for a moment, brow furrowing. “Let me give you some advice; don’t treat him like one. Don’t treat him like your typical prisoner.” He suddenly shot Ardys a sympathetic look. “I don’t entirely understand what’s happened to him, but I can tell you that much.”

Ardys nodded stiffly, eyes darting past the old man to linger of Siavash. “Do what you can for him,” he said, then turned and hesitated. “And let me know when he’s well enough to move.” With that, he stalked out of the tent. The last thing he wanted to do was cause an already damaged man even more pain. For now, he would keep his distance and do as the Physician suggested.

He stalked past a group of soldiers--a mix of lieutenants and officers--with a dark expression on his face. The soldiers all stared at him, apprehensive of his moods. They had even right to be; he was in a sullen, foul mood now, angry at himself for not seeing the signs back before Siavash ran that first time. He should have known, he should have seen it, but no. They’d been too caught up in the Witch-King’s vicious assault on Vakaria to do more than see each other in passing. That last night with Vash was twisted with that bastard’s sickening, tainted corruption now, for all the contentment he’d felt at the time. Ardys had to wonder how much of that had truly been Siavash...and how much of it had been the Witch-King’s manipulations.

Ardys’ expression darkened as he reached the flat area of ground his men had set up as a training area. He strode right into the middle of it, interrupting the current sparring match going on and turned to face the nearest officer. The man hesitated, sword still drawn as he watch his Emperor. Ardys drew his sword and gestured for the man to come at him. In this dark a mood, he needed a good physical workout to distract himself from his thoughts. The man didn’t hesitate again before he came at Ardys with a yell.

Even if Siavash insisted on calling him sir for now. At least it wasn’t  _ master _ .


	4. Four

**Chapter Four**

**_The sound of lowered voices_ ** woke Siavash, and for a moment he was confused, thinking he'd been dragged back to his master. He lay staring blankly up at the roof of a tent for a moment, tracing the patterns of sunlight across canvas as he tried to remember what had happened past a blinding headache. It came back to him in bits and pieces, so by the time he felt balanced enough to move, he had a vague idea of where he was and wasn't surprised to find Ardys speaking to an older man in hushed tones. Siavash couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but he could tell that Ardys had noticed that he was awake. He quickly dropped back onto his back, ignoring the sudden lull in conversation.

"How are you feeling?" the older man called. Siavash listened to the old man's shuffling footsteps for a moment, before turning his face away from him. "Siavash. You can tell me anything you feel up to telling me. There will be no punishment for speaking your mind while you're in my care." He flinched, not moving. "Right, your majesty?"

"Physician Lorne is quite correct," Ardys answered smoothly, and that made Siavash's chest ache. How was he supposed to kill this man when he still loved him? "So please, Vash. Answer the question."

"I feel like shit," he muttered, still not looking towards them. He winced once he'd finished speaking, expecting a blow for being too blunt, but none came. Slowly, Siavash shifted up onto his elbows, frowning at Ardys and then Lorne. "What...." He cleared his throat. "What happened?"

"You passed out on me," Ardys said, arms crossed. He didn't look particularly pleased, but at least he wasn't hurting him yet. Siavash inclined his head. "I'm surprised you're even awake. Lorne thought you might be asleep for another day at least."

Siavash pushed upright, crossing his legs to keep himself balanced, and rubbed at his head. A glint of metal caught his eye and he turned his head to stare at the bracelet on his wrist. "I heal fast," he said absently, reaching up to touch the bracelet. "Anti-mage bracelets?"

"Yes."

He blinked and lowered his hands to his lap, curling them into fists. It was odd to not feel clouded and confused, to not feel another's presence in his head, fingers dug in deep. It was the most like himself he'd felt in a very long time, and it was....confusing, to say the least. Siavash frowned, digging his fingers into the blanket that covered him.

"How long was I out for?" he asked, swallowing shallowly and unclenching his fists. It was important to know. He'd need to go back to Him eventually. Even being so clear-headed and uninfluenced, he knew that. He'd learnt the hard way.

"Three days," the Physician told him, shuffling over. Siavash flinched when the man reached out--slowly--to press the back of one hand against his forehead. He nearly jerked away from him until he realised the man was just checking on him. "Do you hurt anywhere in particular?"

"...no," he muttered, somewhat reluctantly. It was true, to a degree. He didn't truly hurt, beside the ache in his side and in his head. The rest of his body... He'd long gotten used to a dull, throbbing ache that was almost always there. It rarely went away, but at the moment... At the moment, it seemed to be absent. "Just my head and my side."

"Ah, yes, you pulled your stitches out. I had to redo them."

"Oh..."

Ardys cleared his throat, dragging Siavash's attention over to him. And damn, did he look good with a little age on him. He caught himself staring and jerked his gaze down, refusing to meet the other man's intense, penetrating eyes.

"If that's all," Ardys said, and turned to the Physician. "Are we able to move camp now that he's awake and somewhat stable?"

The Physician sighed. “Yes, but give him an hour to wake up properly.” The older man retreated slightly and brushed his hands down the front of his robes  “And I suggest that he does not ride a horse.”

Siavash flinched at the statement. Did they not trust him enough even for that? It was a small freedom that even his master had allowed. Briefly, he wondered if his horse was alright, if it had survived the battle...and quickly dismissed the idea. 

“He can ride with you in the casualty wagon, Lorne,” Ardys murmured and Siavash couldn’t help his gaze being drawn back to his ex-lover. There was a stern edge to Adrys’s expression which softened as their eyes met. “I’m only... asking you to do this because of your injury, Vash. I don’t want it to worsen.”

He hesitated a moment, staring up at Ardys and then Lorne. Siavash exhaled heavily and dropping his head, accepting their decision. Who was he to argue? He was no longer the man he'd been before. He was little more than a shadow of that prince, a ghost with no name and a cruel master. Siavash clenched his hands into fists, fighting the tears welling up. He would not cry, not in front of Ardys and his healer.

"I understand," he muttered, swallowing down the loss of freedom easily. It wasn't like he hadn't done so before. "As you wish, Sir."

"Vash..."

Siavash turned away, touching the bracelets again. For how clear-headed he was, he still felt trapped. "I'm fine, Sir," he said, voice low as he stared at his hands. "Go do whatever it is you need to do."

"Siavash--"

"Go," he hissed, curling in on himself. "Please...." The word 'master' was on the tip of tongue but he swallowed it down, forced himself to push past the impulse. And wasn't that just depressing? "Sir... just let me...."

"Alright," Ardys said, and Siavash relaxed slightly. He hadn't meant to lash out at him so harshly, but he just couldn't handle the gentleness anymore. "Fine. I'll be back in about an hour. Don't go anywhere."

Siavash snorted. "Like I could if I wanted to," he muttered, tone sour. He laughed humourlessly, a little self-deprecatingly and then raised his voice slightly. "An hour, then."

There was pregnant pause and Sivash turned slightly to put his ex-lover in his peripheral vision. There was a pinched look to Ardys's expression and he wasn't quite sure what that meant. "Don't do anything stupid."

With that, Aryds turned and stalked out of the tent, leaving him alone with the Physician. Lorne stared after the Emperor for a moment before sighing and turning towards him. Siavash went still, eyeing the older man warily, but Lorne did nothing more than watch him right back.

"I suppose you're hungry, hmm?" Lorne asked and smiled slightly when Siavash's stomach chose that moment to grumble loudly. "Ah, I see. Then I shall be back in a moment."

Lorne turned and followed Ardys out, laving Siavash alone in the tent. He rubbed at the back of his head, where the dull ache still resided and then exhaled heavily, uncrossing his legs and tossing them over the edge of the bed. _Ardys's bed_ , he realised. Where had Adrys been sleeping for the last few days if he'd been using the Emperor's bed? He's wasn't quite sure if he wanted the answer to that question yet...

Siavash groaned, leaning forwards and tugging sharply on his hair--braided again and, for once, _clean_ , he noted. He should not be thinking so much... If his Master ever found out-- He cringed away from the thought, curling in on himself. The movement tugged at his side, bringing with it a sharp pinch of pain. He slid his hand over the wound there and sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head sag. He shouldn't have run from his Master, should have stayed, should have--- What was he even thinking? He groaned again.

"What is wrong with me?" he whispered, digging his fingers into his side, careful to avoid the stitches. "Focus, Siavash. _Breathe_. You are--momentarily--safe. You can trust Ardys."

"So," came Lorne's voice, startling him. He twisted in time to see the tent flap swing shut. "Do you feel up to eating?"

Siavash stared at him for a moment, then shook his head minutely. "Not much," he murmured, straightening up with a slight grimace. The sight of the plate was already turning his stomach, not to mention the sight of all the meat, which was probably beef, but the very thought of eating it made him feel ill, remembering a time when his master had made him eat a very different kind of meat. He avoided looking directly at the plate Lorne was carrying. "I... have not been eating much of late."

“I see,” Lorne said slowly, stopping short of the bed. Siavash watched his boots from the corner of his eye. “Eat as much as you can, then.”

“Yes, Sir.” 

He’d nearly said master again, and cursed himself for it. The plate was held out towards him. Siavash took it automatically, but slowly. He really didn’t want to eat anything right now, not with memories of what his master had done to him flashing through his mind. But he had to eat something, and thankfully the plate wasn’t all meat. There were also quite a few vegetables there, so Siavash decided to try and avoid the beef and focus on the rest.

Lorne busied himself about the room as Siavash ate and he kept glancing towards the older man, wary of his presence. But Lorne did nothing except clean up the tent, apparently, which consisted of old bandages and a surgeon's kit. Hmm, that was interesting. He would have to pay more attention to his surroundings from now on, even if the sight of the small blades and various other devices set his stomach to rolling.

Siavash superstitiously shuffled the meat around the plate, trying not to touch it too much. The last thing he wanted to do was eat any of it, but he knew he'd need his strength before he returned, if he could ever escape in the first place. And what the fuck was he thinking? Why would he return? His master was a vicious, sadistic man, drunk on power and dark magic. The last thing he should ever want to do was go back to him.

"Shit," he muttered, and abruptly threw the plate away. What the fuck was wrong with him?

The plate hit a support pole and clattered to the ground, alerting Lorne to his little fit of temper. Siavash tried to calm his suddenly harsh breathing, squeezing his eyes shut and curling in on himself. Lorne's soft footsteps came towards him and stopped before him. Siavash tried not to flinch when a hand touched his chin--gentle, always gentle--and tiled it up. He opened his eyes to meet Lorne's assessing gaze.

"Would you like to talk about it?" he asked in a calm, soothing tone. He did nothing else except that, just held his chin and watched him. Siavash swallowed. He hadn't hit him, hadn't scolded him or forced him to his knees to--he quickly tore himself away from that thought, jerking his chin out of Lorne's grip and turning his head away. He was panting, fear twisting through him as Lorne just stood there. He hadn't done anything except look at him.

"No," he gasped, and put his head down into his hands again, fingers digging into the brais in his hair. After a moment, Lorne retreated a few steps, and the precipe of dread and fear that Siavash had been on eased a little.

"I see," Lorne said, and promptly sat down on the chair opposite him that Siavash had only just noticed. "Shall I tell you what I think it is? And if I'm correct, you can say whatever you like, or you can say nothing."

Siavash blinked slowly, gaze flickering towards the man even as he kept his head down. The healer was seated comfortably, one leg crossed over the other as he leaned forwards and set his temples fingers against his chin. He couldn't help but stare at Lorne, a thousand different thoughts darting through his head. Siavash knew Lorne was trying to put him at ease, but that pose... He swallowed dryly and averted his gaze. That was a pose his master had liked as he'd considered which punishment Siavash should receive next, regardless of whether he'd earned it or not. He hated it.

"Only if you don't sit like that," he muttered, still not looking at Lorne. " _Please_ ."

"You need only have asked, Siavash."

When he finally fought down the panic and gained the courage to look, Lorne had leaned back and was resting his hands on his knee. He gave Siavash a once over and then nodded, clearly able to see that Siavash was in a slightly better mental state now. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that fact, that Lorne could read him so easily.

"Better?" the healer prompted, lifting one hand to gesture to himself. Siavash nodded, unable to trust his voice at the moment. "Good. Now, shall I tell you what I have learned from watching you?"

Siavash's gaze narrowed, but he kept his mouth shut. Another lesson he'd learned the hard way. He remembered the first time he'd met his Master. The man had seemed like a kind, caring older mage, willing to give him some comfort in the form of talking when he hadn't been able to talk to Ardys about something. He's seemed lonely and in desperate need of a companion. Siavash hadn't realised until much, much later that he was the notorious Witch-King, and that he'd bound Siavash to him while they'd been talking. And he damn well _should_ have noticed, but well. The man had charisma and a brilliant, if slightly crazed, mind, and that made for a dangerous combination.

"He made you eat something you didn't want to, didn't he?" Lorne said, and Siavash flinched, suddenly brought out of his thoughts by the abruptness of the question. He nodded, just the tiniest bit. Lorne sighed. "I had a feeling...when you spoke about not eating..." He looked away, frowning before slowly asking; "Would you be able to tell me what kind, or is that something you would prefer to try speaking of later?"

Siavash choked on his tongue for a moment and then, with some difficulty, bit out; "Mage."

Lorne froze for a second, then his head jerked back round until his eyes met Siavash's dark, anguished ones. "I... I hadn't even considered that--" He broke off and cursed sharply in another language, before abruptly pushing up and out of the chair. "I need to speak to Ardys and the cooks. Stay here."

He watched the man head for the tent entrance, frowning. His master hadn't exactly forbidden him from speaking of that, but still...it had felt a little good to tell someone about it, even if it were in implied terms. He exhaled carefully and rolled back onto the bed with a grunt. He heard Lorne hesitate by the entrance before the tent flap was brushed aside with the sound of swishing canvas. He was glad to be left alone.


End file.
